


space and time (make me kind)

by mercuric



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 21:05:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13419639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercuric/pseuds/mercuric
Summary: She studies space. Undergradute course of Physics: Astrophysics. And she loves it. She loves herself a reminder of how tiny her problems are. What is the value of a shift in a bookstore, what is the value of a night on a hard dorm-room bed compared to the entire universe?He studies time. Postgraduate course of History AM. And he loves is. It helps him to deal with his own temporariness. If the Emperor Augustus has collapsed, what would be wrong with him doing so?If you are what you love, why doesn't undying love for infinity make you infinite? National University of Ireland, Galway is no worse place for them to try and comprehend than any other.// I guess space, and time, takes violent things, takes angry things, and makes them kind // (Sleeping At Last x Sun)





	space and time (make me kind)

**Author's Note:**

> so this is the bookstore au nobody asked for which was origanally made to stay a one-shot but unintentionally evolved. this one's a pilot so please stay patient and let it be one x
> 
> (might be the first braven i've written and might be eight months old but you can't know for sure.)

> _I don't believe in meant to be_  
> 
> 
> _but i believe in meant to met_

  


Bellamy Blake couldn't really recall the last time he was so confused. And he has spent the last two months living in a bus with his at least slightly unstable little sister who clearly felt obliged to have him uncertain of his own bloodline at least four times per day.

It's been five years since he's moved to Galway. It's been four years since his odd father freed a studio apartment for him so he has somewhere nice to stay at and doesn't need to occupy a dorm room. It's been three years since he's been coming back on this exact day, October 11th, to the closest of home he has ever had.

And it's been solid six minutes of him staring at completely strange bags and a suitcase (a. goddamn. strange. suitcase.) for some reason placed chaotically on his bed.

His bed of four years.

He sat next to the suitcase exhaling loudly and put his phone out of his bag meaning to call Marcus and make him explain this unexpected occupation of his bedroom, when he heard the noise of the front door's locks. He rushed out to see and almost bumped into some blond chick, which made her drop the paper bag she must have been holding.

"What the fuck?!" she screeched, with pure horror in her baby blue eyes watching the liquids dripping on the floor through the paper.

"Yeah, what the fuck?" he echoed, taking a step back and crossing his arms on his chest.

"We need a wiper" she stated to herself rather than to him, ignoring his question and the Annoyed Face he put on, then turned around and made her way to the kitchen while he was focusing all his energy on standing there still and badass, not showing any sings of awkwardness nor inside imbalance.

"Make it quick, it's Macacauba!" He shouted to make himself look intimidating, just as if his knowledge of what Macacauba is could intimidate her and then consequently stared down at her while she was wiping the vegan yogurts off his floor, holding back the temptation of dropping 'you missed a spot' kind of comment.

"It's all your fault" she announced casually when she was done with cleaning and comfortably placed herself on a kitchen stool.

"Who the hell are you?" He cut, making it sound more like an accusation than an actual question.

She eyed him up and down, frowning.

"Certain Marcus did tell you."

"It's not the answer to my question" he said, realising that he hasn't moved for a little bit too long for someone who's not feeling caught off guard. "He didn't."

"But he must have" she argued "He discussed the content of the e-mail with me. Long ago. Back in May I suppose."

He tilted his head slightly in a ???? meme manner.

"He must have" the blonde repeated but her face softened. She stood up and walked up to him, with her right in the very front. "Anyhow. Clarke Griffin."

He looked at her hand suspiciously like it was about to bite him and didn't really let it show, but he recalled. He remembered. Early June, after the last time he has seen Kane, he in fact received an e-mail from him. Telling him about some Art student from Boston, some Clark, that will be staying in Galway for a year. He couldn't say he payed much attention to it though, his mind was already occupied with the road trip he and Octavia were planning and all the formalities he needed to have closed beforehand so he just slipped through the text and crafted a brief reply. But he could bet his left arm, there was nothing about this dude living in his house. Or about this dude being a chick.

All of this flashed in his head in a second before he forced his brows up and shook given hand.

"Since when is Clark a female name?" saying this seemed more appropriate that his name. "Clark Gable wasn't a chick."

"It's Clarke with an "e"."

  * ••



 

"Could you please pack it up for me? It's a gift."

Raven shot a glance at the queue seemingly growing each second, continuously expanding the place it occupied in the store and then locked her eyes back on the customer. The familiar face of the elderly lady asking her for such favour was kind and hopeful, with visible sense of pride for her choice and by all means, Raven would have helped her with utmost pleasure. If it wasn't for the six, oh, seven, people waiting impatiently. It was October 11th, new academic year has only just begun and people were getting desperate for all sorts of books that might or might not turn out to be helpful. She personally didn't find the assortment of her work place any close to satisfying and would never choose this exact place to trust her degree on but she knew it was a spot the closest to the campus area and the nice setting has successfully made up for the lacks on the shelves. At least the crowd she was now seeing implied so.

So, yeah, on any other day she would gladly paint the box in which the lady planned to place the copy of Levin's "Stepford Wives" with her own hands. But not today.

"A bag is the best I can do for now" she said with the sincerest smile she could produce.

"A bag is barely impressing' the old lady frowned 'I would prefer something more... Oh, you know... Sophisticated..."

Oh, and she wold prefer to leave this exact minute. And she would prefer for her co-worker to show up like he was supposed to do twenty minutes ago. And she would prefer to have a couple of loving, wealthy Irish parents. But most importantly, she would prefer for Galway not to be so expensive or at least for Mexican peso not to be so cheap so she wouldn't have to come here four times a week to make for a living but this world is a cruel place and barely ever asks what we would prefer.

"Then I can give you a shiny box and a golden ribbon" she said sweetly instead, noticing the hustle at the end of the line.

"I would not really want to settle for some massively produced decors. This present, you see, is for a son of mine whom I haven't seen since-"

"- I understand but we are a bookstore and not a-"

"I swear to God, this line hasn't moved in ages!" came to her ears from a fourth person standing.

"- But it is rude to interrupt an old woman speaking. So, this dear son of mine whom I haven't seen since Saint Patrick-"

"It will be €8.71" she gasped, meeting a compassionate glare of a boy following the Old Lady in the queue.

"Without the packing or with the packing?"

"We haven't agreed on any-"

"Exactly. Therefore, you cannot cash me just yet since-"

"I WILL NOT PACK IT FOR YOU."

The humming of the store stopped immediately and Raven could cross her heart that she felt the eyes of every person within a radius of two hundred feet turning into her.

"Beeeecaaause the lovely florist from the salon just vis a vis will do it much better than any of us would ever" a guy with slight homeless vibe slipped behind the counter gracefully, flashing a half-mouth smile in the space in front of him like he was expecting the cameras to document his reality tv worthy entrance "And" he continued, as he reached for the store's business card and wrote something with a wide gesture "if you mention the name John Murphy from Arcadia, you will get your packing half-price." He blinked while passing her the piece of paper and the customer exclaimed few more long words before she left all content. Raven used the opportunity to swap to the second cash register and turn it on with her co-worker ID.

"You’re late" she hissed through her teeth once Murphy was done with posing (or at least relatively done since she couldn't imagine him totally not-posing).

"Observant" he commented briefly, not taking his sight from the customer's face. "It's €1.01 charge and a free bookmarker for you. Have an eventful night."

"26 minutes late you cockroach" she detailed, noticing 19.56 displayed on the cash register's screen while putting the sum €2.19 for five pencils.

"See?" he lifted his brow not even giving her a slight stare "Just 26 minutes and you already managed to fuck up."

"I wouldn't if you were here so I'd be on my way home just as I was supposed to be."

"So what is the reason behind you staying here and hurting my mother's native grammar instead of getting your angry ass out?"

She tried. She really did. She tried to be friendly with him the first couple of days, she tried to be indifferent towards him for the next few and she even tried to help him today. (Tonight, actually, since it was pitch dark outside already.) But that was the moment where she just tossed her ID on the counter and stormed out of the building, leaving him with another six people waiting in line.

And then there was the next moment when she came back and slicked into the stuff rooms because she couldn't really leave in her uniform.

  * ••



With an "e" or without an "e", Clarke or Klak, his unexpected roommate was highly inconvenient. Bellamy didn't have any problems with girls around as long as they were around for one night. But every other night for the next ten months? Extremely inconvenient.

It's not like she was completely horrible or something. She actually seemed bearable. A bit too bossy and hella tense for an artist but she took her stuff out of his bedroom once she was asked to do so and they even had something like a conversation so he didn't hate her. At least for now.

But he sincerely enjoyed living alone. His flat was his cave. Casa de Blake has reached the status of an actual legend of Galway, house parties he hosted there were never big but always eventful, he had a reputation he has been building for months and he was determined to keep it.

"I'm sure we'll get along just fine' said Clarke with an "e". 'It's not like you're setting this place on fire every Friday, right?".

Oh, of course not.

He didn't mind a drama every now and again but mostly, he was coming in peace and wished some peace for himself. He didn't really like the idea of fighting with his roommate two up to five evenings a week.

He didn't like the idea of giving up his lifestyle either and that was exactly what he was not going to do. 

And when he eventually got acquainted with the thought of pissing this blond van Goth off on a weekly basic, she called Kane 'dad'.

"I mean, he's my stepdad' she corrected right away. 'But we're very close and he doesn't mind me calling him dad, so."

So. sO. _S o_.

Pissing off a blond van Goth? Acceptable. Fine. Fun, perhaps.

Pissing off a new daughter of his odd parent, his benefactor, the Prime Minister of Ireland, Marcus Henry Ian Kane, the one who pays for his eight-floor city-centre studio apartment, the one who pays his university tuition, the one who's paid for the vacation of his lifetime, the one who's been his and his sister's only family ever since they've got orphaned seven years ago, the one who has shown him nothing but good will and unconditional support? Unacceptable. Definitely not fine. Could still be fun but not worth it.

The longer he thought about her, the more he needed to escape. So he did.

And headed right to the bookstore.

"Okay, sorry but I need to leave you here. I have a date." He said.

"Okay, sorry but I need to leave you here. I feel an intense need to compulsively buy a seventy eighth book about Roman Empire or Greek mythology or Celtic tales so I can drown myself in it and forget about your existence for a while." He didn't say. Not because he was ashamed of it. He just wasn't quite ready to share such information.

Silly as it sounds, his books were always the most personal element of his personality. Taking about his ex-girlfriend was easier than mentioning his favourite titles. The books he chose were always specific, always reflected his inside wars in a way he partly couldn't, partly didn't want to explain.

Bookstores were his safe spots. He didn't really expect any of his party buddies to show up there. When Octavia was away, he only let his guard down among the shelves full of undiscovered stories. It was geeky, he knew, but there, he didn’t mind in the slightest.

He used to feel himself in his flat too, those rare moments when he was there alone, of course, but that was not going to happen a lot now and that made him tense. He was way too shaken to notice that his steps directed at the closest bookstore were faster, more rapid than usual.

He could almost physically feel his though persona falling behind him the further he was from the flat. He might have been a drama queen, he might have been spoiled or ungrateful or overreacting but the thought of sharing his sacred living space with some intruder, regardless of who she was and how was her name spelled, made him sick. He didn’t need this kind of entertainment in his live. What he needed now was stability. It was his last year. What he needed now was his routine, the first routine he has ever had in his fucked up life, the routine he has worked for.

He was way too shaken to notice the tiny girl with a high ponytail and huge dark eyes standing in his way before he bumped into her, her head buried in his chest.

Overwhelmed by the déjà vu, completely done with the shit the world was pulling today, he didn't apologize. And neither did she. He didn't pass her by and neither did she.

All she did was taking half a step back, lifting her head up to face him, to glare at him with vivid annoyance and ire. And since that was the second time during the last two hours when he bumped into an arrogant chicken-sized girl with unnormal, big eyes, he felt this ire transferring into him.

"Out of my way" she barked, waiting for him to move. He couldn't really comprehend what did he do to deserve such treatment but he didn't care. On any other day he would just rush further, dropping a "sorry" behind him. But he happened to have an awfully rough day and he discovered that he actually was furious too, ready to pick up a fight with this smol angry bean if that was what she was asking for.

"Make me" he stared at her, straight into her face, ignoring how pleasant to look at she was, determined for her to turn back first, no matter how long it took.

Keeping her eyes locked on his, her mouth clenched, brows frowned, she raised her hand and in a quick move pressed a fag to the lapel of his coat and smashed it, making a small but visible hole in the material before she rushed past him into the dark.

Completely poleaxed, he turned around and stared at the silhouette fading away for something that felt like a ridiculous amount of time to stand still in the middle of the street.

He managed to notice her gimping slightly on one leg and catch her voice saying "Finn, you still there?" continuing the phone call she must have started before.

**Author's Note:**

> i tend to leave the multi-chapter stuff undone but i officially swear i'm not abandoning this one!!!!
> 
> hope you enjoyed it and are eager to tell me about it x


End file.
